


Coming On the End of Autumn

by Whreflections



Series: Carolina verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is still soaking in the realities of a relationship with Enjolras, the novelty of waking up next to him and taking him dinner when he studies too hard.  Courfeyrac is weighing the odds on a relationship it took him a long time to realize he wanted to start.  Altogether, life is pretty good and for Grantaire, it's not a feeling he's used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming On the End of Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is not what I meant it to be, lmao 
> 
> Sometimes, I sit down with the best of intentions, and then I write something else entirely. This was supposed to involve Courfeyrac talking to Grantaire about how he needs to tell Enjolras about his kinks, and then exR hancuff sex ensues, but all of sudden they were talking and Courfeyrac had other things on his mind, and then this happened. It's...it's domestic and will probably only be interesting if you guys are actually interested in the dynamics/goings on of this verse and basically, I'm sorry I'm not sorry, but this is not porn, lol
> 
> There will be porn eventually though. Promise.

Grantaire groaned, his grip around Enjolras’ waist tightening.  His face was already buried against Enjolras’ shoulder but he scrunched up just a little tighter, letting the quilt cover his head and partially shield him from the sound of Neil Young’s voice spilling out from Enjolras’ iPhone.  Ever since Eponine had showed him how to transfer bits of his iPod playlists to his phone, he’d stopped using Grantaire’s alarm clock the nights he stayed over.  On one hand, that provided less chance for Grantaire to get used to sleeping through the obnoxious beeping he’d had to choose to ensure he ever got his ass up if he set it, but on the other, he rather liked Neil Young.  Not as much as Enjolras did, but still…he wasn’t fond of waking up on mornings like this and wanting to punch the man’s fucking face in. 

“That song’s about a fucking car, you know.  A classic car.  Fucktons of emissions and…shit.”  As he mumbled against Enjolras’ skin he could already feel him moving, muscles shifting as he reached out to silence his phone. 

“Neil modified his classic Lincoln to run on sustainable sources.  It’s a myth that the character of classic cars has to die in order to implement practices that give us green automobiles.”

“How the fuck do you wake up talking like that?”  He was barely managing to not trip over simple words- or at least, he was attempting to manage it.  Truthfully, his words were still slurred with sleep. 

He felt Enjolras’ laughter, let his grip slacken just enough for Enjolras to turn over onto his back to face Grantaire. 

“I’ve been awake for about 15 minutes.” 

Grantaire narrowed his eyes, gave up glaring and burrowed into Enjolras’ neck.  “Unnatural creature.” 

“Mm, perhaps.”  His fingers stroked lazily through Grantaire’s hair, so gentle and soothing he was almost drifting back to sleep by the time Enjolras kissed the top of his head and murmured, “You have to let me up.”

“Hell no; it’s cold.”

“You’ll live.  It’s for your sake I’ve moved the alarm back until I absolutely _have_ to get up, you know.”

He did, and he appreciated it, when he was awake enough to think it through.  For the moment, the most pressing fact was that of Enjolras leaving his bed.  It wasn’t a pleasant thought, no matter how many extra minutes he’d gained.  He kissed Enjolras’ neck, teeth skimming lightly across his skin, and Enjolras tugged at his hair. 

“Grantaire, _no_.  I can’t miss anatomy.” 

Sighing, Grantaire gave up and rolled off of him, leaning on one arm as he watched Enjolras slide out of bed.  “I know he just reads that damn powerpoint and rambles like the pompous asshole he is; I came to class with you that time.”

Enjolras bent down to search the floor for his clothes, dragging his jeans and boxers up from under the bed after a moment of patting around.  “This room is a disaster.”

“Hey, I-“

“And I’m well aware he’s an idiot, but as that idiot determines my grade I mean for him to see my face in class every single day.  Besides, even if he puts up little of value, I do still need to take notes.”  He tugged on the first t-shirt he could find on the floor (Grantaire’s, with melting daleks; it made him smile), and Grantaire spoke up before he could continue his search. 

“Your hoodie’s still in my car.”  They’d been in a bit of a hurry to get in the house, last night.  If Grantaire remembered right, Enjolras had tossed it over his shoulder into the backseat.  It pleased him to think Enjolras couldn’t remember, that he’d been too caught up in the feel of Grantaire’s hands underneath and on his chest as he tugged it off to fully register it.  He nodded toward his own black leather jacket hanging off the back of the chair at his desk, before flopping back onto his back arm tucked beneath his pillow.  “Take my jacket.” 

“You’ll need it; it’s supposed to be windy out there.”

Grantaire shook his head, his eyes half closed.  “I won’t need it today, not until late this afternoon at least if I go down to Barefoot Landing at all.  I’ll be fine.”  And if he did go, well, there was Enjolras’ hoodie in the car.  It didn’t fit him overly well, but it worked, and it smelled like Enjolras, and he enjoyed wearing it almost as much as he liked seeing Enjolras’ narrow frame swallowed by tattered black leather.  Grantaire stretched, well aware of the slide of the blankets down his bare chest. 

Even with the distance between them, Grantaire could catch the way Enjolras’ eyes dilated, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.  Of all the sins he’d committed in his life, teaching Enjolras to want had to be his favorite. 

Enjolras came back to the side of the bed that was rapidly becoming his to shove his phone into his back pocket, leaned over the bed to cup Grantaire’s cheek in his hand, ready to lean in for his customary goodbye kiss, though he hesitated. 

“I can’t stay, tonight.  I have-“

“The lab report, yes, I know.” 

“You know, if you put half the effort you use memorizing my schedule into some studies of your own-“

Grantaire brought their lips together, slipped his tongue into Enjolras’ mouth and hummed softly in pleasure at the brush of his tongue.  Even like this, no taste of toothpaste, full of the stale taste of morning, there was nothing like the thrill of kissing Enjolras.  He’d been doing it routinely for two months now, and nothing about the way it spun his head around had started to fade. 

“Text me later?  I’ll bring you dinner; to the library if you want.”

“I do.”  A last brief kiss, and then Enjolras was slipping from his fingers, passing out the door to slip quiet as a wraith up the stairs to reach the front door.  His first week staying over, he’d learned where the steps creaked, and he’d mapped them in his mind with the kind of glorious efficiency he usually reserved for the material he studied.  He had a gift for remembered detail that Grantaire had never mastered(except, of course, where Enjolras was concerned).  Every time, drunk or not, he still hit that particularly loud step near the bottom. 

Grantaire closed his eyes, fingers curling into the bottom of the pillowcase as he listened for the rumble of Enjolras’ car.  After weeks of listening to him drive away, he still wasn’t quite used to the novelty of it, of falling back to sleep with the taste of Enjolras on his lips. He might or might not remember to text Grantaire that night for dinner but it wouldn’t matter; Grantaire would make it there anyway.  They hadn’t had seafood in a while.  Maybe, if he asked nicely, Jehan would make some coconut shrimp…

When the sound of Enjolras’ car receded into the distance, Grantaire pulled the blankets up to his neck and rolled over onto his side, into the still slightly warm spot Enjolras had left behind.

\-------

“Rise and shine, R!”  From the sound of it, Courfeyrac opened the door knob only to kick it open with the toe of his boot, a sharp sound that had Grantaire groaning, tugging the quilt over his head.  “Hey, c’mon, none of that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“An asshole who made you pancakes;  get up.” 

“They can wait.”  Because he was hungry, but more than hungry, he was fucking _sleepy_.  He hadn’t slept the night before last at all, and last night he’d probably gone to bed at about three, and Enjolras’ alarm went off at 7:15 so he could make his 8 o’clock class.  Judging by the way his eyes fucking _hurt_ behind his lids, it couldn’t have even been 9 just yet.  And here he’d planned to sleep till noon at least…

Courfeyrac kneed the bed just hard enough to make it jolt a little, shaking him out of his thoughts.  “I have to be in class at 10.  Come have breakfast with me.  When was the last time we talked face to face, alone, with you completely sober, can you tell me that?” 

No, because the answer was, _way too fucking long_ , and at the thought, Grantaire didn’t really feel like he could protest anymore.  Courfeyrac had a point.  It wasn’t that Grantaire had _meant_ to sacrifice any aspect of their friendship after his relationship with Enjolras had started, but it seemed to have happened anyway, a bit without his consent.  Or his notice, apparently.  Most often lately, they talked by text during the day while Courfeyrac was in class and Grantaire was occasionally busy elsewhere, or they talked a little as part of a group, or they talked when Grantaire was trashed.  They hadn’t had a solid conversation in weeks, come to think of it. 

Grantaire tugged the blankets down, hands scrubbing at his eyes, his cheeks.  “Fuck, man, I-“

“Have been busy fucking your Apollo at every available opportunity; I don’t blame you.  I was just thinking, at some point, you start having time for your best friend again, too.  Theoretically.” 

Still half asleep but feeling guilty as hell, Grantaire rubbed his eyes one last time before looking over at Courfeyrac, still standing at the end of his bed.  “You made me pancakes, seriously?”

“Seriously.  Well.”  He grinned, playful in a way that had always reminded Grantaire of the ferret he’d had as a kid.  “Technically I made pancakes for Jehan but there were plenty, and we needed to talk anyway and I knew you’d be able to tell me if they were edible, so-“  He dodged the pillow Grantaire chucked at his head, didn’t bother to catch it and instead let it crash against the bookshelf behind him.  It rattled a bit, but if anything fell it was quickly swallowed by the mess of clothes on the floor.  Maybe he’d find it next time he gathered that section up to do laundry.  Courfeyrac shook like a puppy, hair flopping as he straightened.  “Hey, I put chocolate chips in them; you’ll like it!  And besides, I was serious about the first part; I’ve hardly seen you.  Can we talk?” 

Grantaire sat up, kept the sheet bunched around his waist as he scratched his fingers through his hair.  “I could’ve seen you just as well at any other time of day other than the ass crack of dawn, oddly enough.”

“Ah, it’s a little later than that.  And if I’d come in here last night, I’d have had to peel you off Enjolras.  No thank you.” 

Grantaire laughed, picturing it.  Enjolras had gone to sleep earlier than he had, but Courfeyrac wasn’t wrong.  He might’ve been up and on the internet, but he was curled against Enjolras the best he could all the same.  He nodded toward the door, motioning Courfeyrac back out. 

“I have to find clothes.  I’ll be up in a minute.” 

\--------

They weren’t pretty pancakes by any stretch, but they _were_ delicious.  Courfeyrac had dyed them red, which had mostly worked except in the places they’d gotten a little brown while cooking.  As far as Grantaire could determine there was no _actual_ strawberry, just strawberry flavoring, but that wasn’t surprising; Courfeyrac hated the taste of real fruit. 

“Shockingly, these are pretty awesome.”  Grantaire bit a chunk off the pancake he held in one hand, pouring milk into a glass with the other. 

Courfeyrac leaned against the counter next to him, a small smile on his lips as he shifted a pancake close to the edge of the plate.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  But that was never your real question, cause I’m sure you’ve eaten about five of ‘em already.”  He glanced back as he slid the milk into the fridge, catching Courfeyrac’s eye.

“More.  The first batch didn’t turn out so good; Tracy didn’t even want them.”  At the sound of his name, the black greyhound stretched out on the floor against the cabinets picked his head up, only to realize quickly he wasn’t needed.  He set it back down with a clink of tags and a heavy groan. 

“They’ve got chocolate; he really shouldn’t-“

“First batch didn’t.  I had to practice.”

“Right.  But my point was,”  Grantaire snagged another two pancakes off the plate, wrapping them in a napkin before taking his milk in his other hand to sit down at the kitchen table.  “-that the real question in all of this is why you woke up stupidly early on a Thursday morning to fucking make pancakes.  For Jehan.  Who’s probably still asleep, and is definitely not currently _here_.” 

Courfeyrac’s laugh was short, enough on its own to tell Grantaire plenty, but he hopped up onto the counter instead of joining Grantaire at the table and that, that told him more.  He shifted aimlessly through the disheveled stack of mail on the counter next to his thigh, an obvious distraction, but Grantaire let him have it, settled back with his pancakes and milk and watched Courfeyrac’s silence.  After having spent most of their 24 years together, silence between them wasn’t something that ever felt uncomfortable. 

When Courfeyrac finally did clear his throat to start, Grantaire put down his last pancake. 

“I can’t sleep with him.” 

“Ok.”  Grantaire leaned forward, arms resting on the table as he tried to catch Courfeyrac’s eye.  “But if these are supposed to be apology pancakes for not getting your cock, I’m not sure I should be eating them.” 

“Grantaire-“

“I will be 100% serious the minute you’re straight with me; so cut to it.  This is the first I’ve heard about you even _considering_ sleeping with Jehan, but you’re sayin’ it like it’s news that you _aren’t_ sleeping with him, so I think there’s vital information I’m missing, here.” 

It was true; he’d never heard a word from Courfeyrac about sleeping with Jehan.  He had, however, heard from Jehan on the topic of sex with Courfeyrac(though honestly, half of what he’d heard had been less about sex and more about love).  The three of them had been friends since they were kids, since before they met Eponine in middle school and Marius freshman year of high school.  Jehan had never been able to tell Grantaire or Eponine exactly when his feelings had changed; all Grantaire knew was that Eponine had called him the night after prom junior year to say she needed him, that Jehan had come to her crying.  That night, he’d seen Courfeyrac kiss Marius, and it damn near broke his heart.  It was one thing to know he fucked strangers, girlfriends and boyfriends that never lasted long; Marius, he was close to home, a whole different matter.  They never quite had a relationship, and even that ‘not really dating’ phase hadn’t lasted, but for a while it had wounded Jehan pretty deeply.  In his mind at the time, it seemed a confirmation that it wasn’t a relationship with a friend Courfeyrac wouldn’t consider, just a relationship with _him_. 

Grantaire had promised Jehan his silence and true to his word, he’d never said a damn thing, not even when he felt he should have.  He sat back, and he watched, and he bit his tongue as Jehan tried his best to branch out and fall in love with someone else and Courfeyrac ran through a series of relationships Grantaire had long lost count of.  There’d been a hell of lot of times he’d been sure he should speak up but in the end it had always come back to his own fucking glass house.  He had little ground to stand on to direct Jehan when he spent most of his nights drinking out of a flask in a dark café just to watch his Apollo hold court.  Things had certainly changed for _him_ lately, but still, he could sympathize.  Above all else, he knew, Jehan didn’t want to risk the friendship they already had.  Knowing all that, with this conversation, he’d have to proceed carefully. 

Sometimes, he hit on rare occasions he was glad to be sober.  If he got up to make coffee in a minute(and he was absolutely going to need to get up and make coffee), he’d keep the Jameson out of it. 

Courfeyrac rubbed at the back of his neck, hopped down from the counter to pace all the way to the doorway at the other end of the room before he headed back toward the table, effortlessly stepping over Tracy’s stretched out legs as if he wasn’t there. 

“I think I fucked up, R.  I’ve been thinking about this for days-“  The guilt Grantaire had felt downstairs slipped back in, washing all the way up to his throat.  He swallowed against it.  “-and he was just too drunk, hell _I_ was drunk but I shouldn’t have-“

“What exactly did you-“

“Oh God no, I didn’t, I wouldn’t…”  He waved his hand, dismissive, and for a second Grantaire hated that he’d even asked.  Still, he knew from experience it was possible to do a wealth of stupid things while wasted, and while he didn’t believe for a second Courfeyrac would push _anyone_ into anything, he was perfectly capable of making a mutually poorly executed decision.  Courfeyrac sighed, his shoulders sagging.  “Saturday night, we both stayed late at Bahorel’s party.” 

Grantaire nodded, though Courfeyrac wasn’t really looking.  He’d known that much at least; he’d gotten drunk texts from almost everyone he knew.  He’d had a few drinks himself, but he’d left early with Enjolras, and he’d coaxed Enjolras into watching half of Watchmen with him before they got too distracted (he couldn’t help it; now that he knew he _could_ the urge to maneuver his way into Enjolras’ lap was too tempting.  He’d be willing to take a bet they’d never finish a movie in one sitting again.). 

“I don’t remember all of it, I just remember we ended up out on the balcony, and we were talking and then I was making out with him and I know, I know there was a progression there I’m not quite remembering but I realized what I was doing and I had the sense to know I shouldn’t so I left, and he doesn’t remember, but I do and-“

“How do you know?”

“What?”

“That Jehan doesn’t remember; how do you know?  You talk to him?”

“God no.”

“Then you’re guessing, basically.  Because why, he hasn’t brought it up?  Based on that logic, you don’t remember, either.” 

Courfeyrac sank down against the cabinets next to his dog, knees drawn up to his chest as he let one hand drop to rest on Tracy’s haunches.  His whip thin tail beat the floor once and was still. 

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” 

“That he remembers?”

“Mm.” 

Grantaire slipped from his chair, settling instead slightly under the overhang of the round table to put them on more even ground. 

“And that’s terrifying because…it’s not something you’d want to do sober.”

“No.  No, it’s not that.”  His head came back against the wood behind him with a soft thud, his eyes closing.  “My longest relationship lasted four months, R.  You know that.  I’m terminally horrible at them; you’ve seen it for yourself.  I’ve tried a few times but they’ve never lasted and Jehan, he hasn’t had that many but he just stopped seeing Annie and it might’ve only been two months but she was around all the time, always in his space and on the couch and I don’t think I fully realized it until I’ve been thinking about everything lately but all of sudden it was her lap he ended up laying his head on to watch TV and I hated it, and I was furious at myself for hating it, because like I said, four months.  I’ve got no leg to stand on here, no right to complain; he’s not mine, he never has been, for good reason.  It’s why I was glad me and Marius quit before we ever really got started, why I was glad everything with me and you stayed simple.  Even if he _would_ consider…if I did something to fuck this up, with one of my best friends?”  His lips pressed together, grim, and he shook his head as he fell silent. 

“Let me…humor me, and answer this-“  Courfeyrac didn’t nod, didn’t open his eyes, but Grantaire could see the acquiescence in the set of his shoulders.  “So you were jealous, and that took you at least a bit by surprise, but that doesn’t tell me how long you’ve known you wanted more, with him.” 

“I don’t know.  I don’t know, R.  I just…seeing him with her, I hated it.  And I felt like shit.  But I didn’t mean to do this.” 

“You felt like shit and you didn’t tell me, why, because I was happy?”

“You deserve it.”

“What I _deserve_ is for my best friend to tell me the fucking truth.” 

“Point taken.”  Courfeyrac patted Tracy’s leg, opened his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his drawn up knees.  “But you know it now.  So help me out, here.  What the fuck do I do?  I haven’t seen him since.  We’ve talked and everything seems fine so I thought, I’d make him pancakes and go over to see him and make sure but I feel like if he does remember?  I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say.” 

“Your biggest fear here, is it that he didn’t want this, or that both of you did?  I mean think about it; you know Jehan better than anyone but Eponine, I’d say.  How’d he seem to you?” 

Quiet, Courfeyrac chipped at the black nail polish on his fingers.  Jehan had been the one to put it there, two weeks ago.  Jehan was always eager to paint everyone’s nails given the chance and Courfeyrac, he always wore it down to the last flecks of paint, had even gone to visit his grandparents once with hot pink and yellow still clinging to the ends of his fingers. 

“It was good.  It was really good.”  He murmured under his breath, fingers locked on his thumb as he scratched at a stubborn speck of black. 

“Well there’s your answer.”  Grantaire stretched his legs out, kicked the side of Courfeyrac’s Converses.  “Talk to Jehan, man.   I can just about promise you, it’ll be ok.” 

“But what if I-“

“You can’t worry about that, not yet.  Fuck, I mean, look at me, I’ve-“  On this, disbelieving laughter came incredibly naturally.  “I have no idea how this ends, with Enjolras.  But having it, right now?  How could I turn that down?” 

“You think he-“

“I think you should talk to _him_ about that.  And I think you should go now.  Fuck class; it’ll wait.”

For the first time since he’d started talking about any of it, Courfeyrac genuinely smiled.  “You’re a godawful influence.” 

“Hey, I never pretended to be anything less.” 

\--------

At four, Grantaire text Jehan. 

_Hey, can I bother you for some shrimp and rice?  I need to feed Enjolras.  Around 5:30?_

By the time Grantaire had laced up his boots to get ready to go to the store and grab ingredients to take him, he had his answer.

_Love to, R, but I’ve got a date, :)_

Biting his lip against his spreading smile, he called Enjolras. 

“Looks like we’re on our own for dinner.” 

“Hm?”  There was no stopping _that_ smile, not that he really wanted to.  Grantaire could just see him, lab notebook on the desk in front of him, chemistry notes spread across the desk in a weird halo around his computer. 

“Dinner.  Remember?  I told you I’d bring you dinner, and I was gonna have Jehan cook for you, but he’s busy, so you’re getting early dinner, whatever I pass on my way downtown.  Or ramen, but I’d like to think I’m a better boyfriend than that.” 

“By bringing me fast food?”  With his slight irritation, there was always just enough of a touch of amusement, enough to tell Grantaire he was still on steady ground. 

“KFC?”

“If you must.” 

“You on the fourth floor?”

“Honestly, Grantaire, how on earth do you remember-“

“Oh please; you love it.  Be there in thirty minutes, tops.”  He found his keys in the pocket of the pants he’d worn yesterday, jerked them out quick enough that they almost slipped through his fingers.  “Leaving now.  Loveyou.”  Over a month from the first time they’d said it, he still pushed the words out in one breath, still felt the heady, terrifyingly rapid beat of his pulse as he did. 

“Love you, too.”  He could hear the distraction, hear that his eyes were already back on his notes, back into elements and tables, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter one damn bit, because Enjolras, he never said anything he didn’t mean. 

“See you soon.”  Hanging up, Grantaire shoved the phone into his pocket and stepped out into the chill of the evening, wind stirring across his arms.  When he got to the car, he’d absolutely be pulling that hoodie on. 

Behind the wheel, he stopped for a last text message before he turned the keys in the ignition, to Courfeyrac. 

_I get the feeling that talk went well.  Good luck.  Talk tonight when you get back?_

He backed out of the driveway, headed off down the empty street as he worried the fraying edge of Enjolras’ sleeve between his teeth.  Two months, two months and he hadn’t changed his mind yet.  They were good and it looked like Jehan and Courfeyrac would finally be getting a chance of their own and at this point, he should’ve been waking up.  Instead, he cracked the windows, let the fall air in and pulled the sleeves down as far as he could over his fingers. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, though this series started in my head as very exR centered(and I mean, it still is), I'm apparently writing a short oneshot of Courfeyrac's conversation with Jehan. *headdesk* It's gonna be real short, so it'll probably be up tomorrow if any of you are interested...


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